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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28210779">i will stay til you awaken</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/'>Anonymous</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Gentleman's Guide to Vice and Virtue Series - Mackenzi Lee</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Blood, Gun Violence, Hospitalization, M/M, also johanna and sim are there, i gave johanna three dogs in total, monty pov, trans percy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-11 00:46:58</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,646</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28210779</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"Since you have been for what I call an eternity (although no human mind can ever truly comprehend the infinite) the dearest part of my heart, I will wait an equivalent amount of time for you. Sleep, my darling, and rest assured: I will stay til you awaken."</p><p><em>~ Sent by Way of the High Road</em>, by Simon-Helena Westfall.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Felicity Montague &amp; Henry "Monty" Montague, Henry "Monty" Montague/Percy Newton</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Anonymous</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>i will stay til you awaken</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Please don't hate me for this. I decided arbitrarily that it is important my first tggtvav fic I publish openly on ao3 for all the world to see involve major character death, and so here we are.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There's too much blood.</p><p>Blood is supposed to remain on the inside of our bodies (I don't need Felicity to tell me that) but Percy's got it all down the front of his shirt. For a moment, I mourn for that beautiful button-down he has on, because he looks so nice in it and it'll be a shame if it's ruined-- and then I realize that I am an utter fool, an idiot in shock, standing there numbly while the love of his goddamned life is bleeding on the linoleum of their kitchen.</p><p>I fall to my knees (directly into the broken glass surrounding him, and I'm sure my legs will end up studded with sparkling shards, but that doesn't matter right now. Any injuries to myself are simply something I will have to deal with later.)</p><p>He's gasping. "It all happened so fast," he says, so quietly I can hardly hear him. At least he's on the side of my good ear, or I'd have to make him repeat it.</p><p>"I heard it go off from the other room." It feels as if I will regret having been in the other room for the rest of my life. "Did it come through the window?"</p><p>He nods. "It hit me in the chest. You can see."</p><p>I tear off the scarf around my neck (one of Percy's best pieces, blues and greens and complicated stitches that took him hours to learn) and hold it against the wound in his chest. It's odd how <em>calm</em> he is. I end up trying desperately to staunch the flow of blood with one hand and dialing an emergency number with the other, but he's simply staring into my eyes, his gaze unwavering.</p><p>"State the nature of your emergency?" The voice on the other end of the line is completely impersonal.</p><p>"He's been shot," I pant. "My boyfriend-- his name is Percy Newton. Our address is--" My voice nearly gives out as I'm trying to remember our address, the address of the only place I've ever been happy in. What is <em>wrong</em> with me? If Felicity were here, she would have been calm the whole way through. Her hands are steady and her voice is sharp-edged and she would not be struggling to remember the address. My father wouldn't have either (but my father never calls hospitals; he drove me there himself the last night I saw him, with blood staining his car seats and a horrible ringing in my ears).</p><p> </p><p>They say they'll come soon. Percy is still heaving, gasping for breath, and I don't know what to do. I don't know how to save him. It suddenly occurs to me that I'm wearing his hoodie, a soft, shapeless gray thing that he used to wear all the time before I lovingly thieved it. He still takes it back, sometimes, when he can manage to ignore my extraordinarily persuasive dimples. It feels like I should take it off and give to him-- but that would mean letting go of him, and releasing the pressure on his wound, and getting blood all over the hoodie, so it's better if I don't. All the softness in the world, all the love I've ever learned, none of it is enough to save him now.</p><p>He reaches out for my hand. I let him take it; he's squeezing so hard all circulation is cut off to my fingers, but I don't mind it. It doesn't matter. At the moment I do not matter. This might be the last time he ever touches me-- <em>no, it won't, he'll make it through, I refuse.</em></p><p>"I'm so sorry," I whisper, kissing his forehead.</p><p>He snorts. "What are you-- sorry for?"</p><p>"It should have been me."</p><p>I might be imagining it, but I swear his grip on me tightens even more. "No. It doesn't matter. It could've been either of us. I could have had to lose you."</p><p>"Then I wouldn't have to lose <em>you</em>." And suddenly I'm crying, tears rolling down my face and dripping onto my knees (I can't tell if my knees are bloody from the glass or if it's <em>Percy's </em>blood all over me), because I'm suddenly internalizing the possibility that he might actually <em>die</em> from this. "No," I manage to choke out between sobs. "You'll survive this."</p><p>He smiles at me, a little sad smile. "But what if-- I don't?" His breathing is far too labored for my comfort, coming too quickly.</p><p>"You <em>have</em> to." I kiss his cheek, and I'm getting tears on him, but it's surprising how much we'll let slide when faced with the likelihood of death. Percy comes before anything else. "You have surgery on Monday."</p><p>"Might need-- it-- sooner."</p><p>I laugh, but it rings hollow. "Maybe. Yes. They'll do some complicated surgery on you that Feli will explain to me a thousand times and still fail to make me understand, and you'll survive this, and you'll come out <em>fine</em>, and we'll have to reschedule your top surgery and it'll all be dreadfully inconvenient."</p><p>"I love you."</p><p>I'm not expecting that. I don't move at all for a moment, simply staring at him like I'm seeing a ghost (which maybe I am). "What?"</p><p>"I love you," he says again, and I immediately feel guilty for making him speak again when he's in a state like this. "I was going to tell you-- soon. But I'm worried, I won't, get the chance."</p><p>I nod, and oh, lord, I'm crying again. "You should've <em>saved</em> <em>it</em>. You should get to tell me you love me for the first time over some fancy dinner or something, darling."</p><p>"Well. I'm saying-- it now. I love you."</p><p>"I love you," I echo, and he squeezes my hand even tighter for a moment before relaxing his grip. In the futile hope that the ambulance will arrive soon enough to save him, I press harder on the wound to try to keep the blood in. He must be in pain-- I'm sure he's in pain, but he's still trying to get words out in between gasps.</p><p>"I love you," he says, over and over. "Monty Montague, I love you-- so much."</p><p>"I love you too," I whisper, kissing his forehead. "My perfect Percy Newton. I love you too."</p><p> </p><p>They don't arrive in time to save him.</p><p>There are wailing sirens and people running through the halls, banging on the door, but the light has already left Percy's eyes when they come to get him. I'm standing there, shards dusting my already worn-through jeans, his blood all over me, and he's unconscious (<em>just unconscious, </em>I tell myself, <em>not dead</em>) on the floor next to me, surrounded by a glittering halo of powdered glass. He looks like a stained-glass window in a chapel, beautiful even in unconsciousness or death (but now that he's gone-- if he's gone-- who will worship my Percy?)</p><p>They let me ride in the ambulance, but tell me to sit down, stay still, and stop interfering with the paramedics. There is nothing more in this world I want than to hold his hand, but I settle for hugging my knees and burying my hands in the pocket of my-- his hoodie, fiddling with the detritus of change and bobby pins and little wound-up scraps of paper. I'm numb, still covered in his blood; it takes me almost the whole ride to think of texting Felicity. <em>Percy's been shot, </em>I tell her, simply, without fanfare or gravitas. I don't have energy for more than those few words.</p><p>She responds immediately. <em>Monty. You're joking, right?</em></p><p>I swallow hard to keep the tears from pricking my eyes. <em>I wish I was.</em></p><p>She's typing for a long time, obviously trying to work out what to say (I can tell, as I'm watching the three dots shrink and grow, that she is struggling to make herself the right person in this moment, the sort of impossible person who knows how to fix this impossibly large wound in the world). Finally, she decides she can make peace with what she's got to say and sends the message. <em>Which hospital? Do you want me to come?</em></p><p>I tell her <em>yes, please</em> and leave it at that. It will be easier with Feli here, I hope. She won't necessarily say the right thing, but she'll try. And besides, then I'll have company as I wait for Percy to awaken.</p><p> </p><p>(He has to awaken.)</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Felicity sits by me as I wait. The room where we sit is cold and white and oppressively low-ceilinged, and every noise echoes, making it impossible to hear anything. She sits by me, still and steady, the only sign that Percy's injury has affected her at all the slight tremor in her fingertips. I lean back in my chair and close my eyes; I can pass trust over to her for now.</p><p>We wait for hours. They tell us nothing. It's like hell, or purgatory, time slowing down endlessly, delays and delays and delays. I only want to see him. That's all I need from this damned world, to see him again.</p><p>They've called his aunt and uncle, but neither of them bother to show up. The most cynical part of me isn't even surprised. They're the ones who wanted Percy put into a care facility for his epilepsy (which, as Feli explained to them, is an <em>extreme</em> overreaction, utterly unreasonable, and simply cruel, and which, as I explained to them, is fucking stupid.) I don't think they'd particularly mind if Percy died. Sure, they'd make a showy thing of his funeral, prattle on about how they loved him like a son, perhaps cry a bit, perhaps have him buried in their family plot in the old churchyard. And then they would move on with their lives.</p><p>If Percy were dead, my world would end. I cannot live without him. So he cannot die, he will not die, <em>he's going to be fine</em>, I tell myself. Felicity argues with doctors who won't tell us anything about how Percy's doing. She lets her fear come out as anger, sharp spines stabbing at the faceless people who dare keep him from us. I sit silently. It's all I can do to keep myself together.</p><p>I feel like I've lost my sense of smell as well as half my hearing (although I lost my ear years ago, and I've long learned to live with it-- fifty percent of the noise in the world a pittance compared to half a heart) simply because of the absence of a scent int this plain white room. Most places have at least <em>some</em> smell; fabric or dust or carpeting or disinfectant, but this room has no scent at all. It makes me nervous, throws me off. This room might as well be another world entirely.</p><p>Somewhere in this hospital is Percy, still breathing, heart still beating, still alive. I imagine him lying in one of those hospital beds, curly hair splayed across white sheets, asleep or unconscious or drugged-out, but still alive. My eyes close without my intending them to. I focus on how it will be, how it has to be. The doctors without faces will lead me to his bedside. I will sit there on the right side of his bed, with my good ear facing toward him so I can hear anything he says, until he awakens, and he will reach out and take my hand and I will tell him that I love him. He will be healing, and I will tell him that I am so proud of him, so goddamn proud of him for pulling through, and that I love him more than life itself.</p><p> </p><p>I am imagining all of it. When the doctors finally talk to us, I am dreaming of our reunion. Felicity is the one listening. I don't hear a word they say, not a word. I refuse to let myself hear a word, leaning on my good ear, blocking out all sound, only watching the doctor's lips move and Feli's eyes widen. She raises a hand to her mouth.</p><p>I am imagining it when Felicity pulls me out of the hospital, as she gestures for me to sit down on a park bench as she makes a curt telephone call (she seems to have accepted that I'm not listening and doesn't try to speak to me). It's all a product of my overactive imagination.</p><p>Percy keeps earplugs about to use sometimes, when he gets too bothered by the noise of the street to sleep, and somehow a few have ended up in my pocket. I've jammed one into my good ear, cutting off all sound; I hope he won't mind when he comes back. Plugging my ear makes it much easier to focus on what's real.</p><p>
  <em>"Was it awful?" Percy asks, leaning his head on my shoulder. "To have to wait so long, to have to see me hurt?"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"I'll do anything for you," I murmur, kissing him on the head. "Absolutely anything, darling. Nothing is too awful. I love you."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>He smiles at me, tipping his head to the side. "I'm so tired."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Then you should be resting instead of talking to me."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"But I want to talk to you. I love you. Talk to me until I fall asleep."</em>
</p><p> </p><p>So I do. Felicity drags me back to her apartment, which she shares with Johanna, Sim, and Johanna's several enormous dogs, all of whom are very quiet today. Johanna barely looks at me when I stumble in after Felicity. Sim doesn't seem to be anywhere about here, and the dogs don't try to jump on me, which I don't have the presence of mind to appreciate.</p><p>Felicity keeps shaking me, nudging me, gesturing indignantly, forcing me to do something or other every few seconds or minutes or hours (how quickly is time passing?) I'm sitting at their kitchen table, a cup of tea in front of me, staring at the woodgrain and the pattern on the porcelain (a pretty flowery sort of thing, maybe irises or chrysanthemums; I'd bet my wallet that Johanna picked it out).</p><p>Even though this is where I seem to be, it doesn't feel real. In my mind, in the real world, I am sitting by Percy's bedside, and he is looking as if he will fall asleep any minute now. I talk to him, murmuring softly about how worried I've been, how it will be such an inconvenience to have to reschedule his surgery, how we'll have to keep Max and Penelope and Alexander from jumping up on him when they see him again and enveloping him in a cloud of saliva and fur. After he drifts off I watch him sleep, counting his breaths, admiring his freckles and his lovely long eyelashes. Even here he is beautiful; even injured and exhausted and spent in a world of bleached white, he is the most stunning person I've seen in my lifetime.</p><p>This is a dream. I am dreaming a thousand times: when Felicity puts a bowl of soup in front of me, when Sim puts her hand on my shoulder and says something I can't hear or don't want to hear, when Penelope curls up on my feet and barks once, when my eyelids are too heavy for me to keep them open and someone pulls me to a bed.</p><p>This is a dream. Why can't I wake up?</p><p>In the morning the light comes through the window (<em>and it shines on Percy, his sleeping face that of an angel) </em>and Feli drags me out of bed to breakfast. "Can I go see Percy after I eat?" I ask. She only looks at me for a moment-- she doesn't have to say anything. I can see it all in her face.</p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>I have to call to cancel his appointment on Monday.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Please comment or leave kudos if you enjoy it or if you hate me now. Thank you! I live for it. (Also, to make it clear, the book I claim to be quoting in the summary is entirely fictional.)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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